


Plums and Clouds

by HathorAroha



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 14:59:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: Adam tries to remember his mother's guidance on how to calm himself when he is anxious.





	Plums and Clouds

Adam raced through the castle, hurrying away from his father who kept shouting at him about always getting under everyone’s feet, how he should learn to stay away when people were busy. Even the servants knew better than to keep getting under his and the princess’s feet all the time! He was nearly eight, he should know better than to be in everyone’s way! How could he be taken seriously as a prince and employer of servants if he didn’t know how to leap out of everyone’s path? 

He couldn’t even go to his mother for comfort--at least not right now, as she was currently deep in some meeting with an ambassador from another province, and his father wouldn’t allow him to go to her now anyway. The boy knew full well what would happen if he did attempt to go to her--his father would go off on a rant at him on how much of a humiliation he was to the family, to their legacy, for embarrassing an ambassador by interrupting them. What a terrible unravelling of their reputation the boy would bring upon them if he so much as bumped accidentally against the door where they were meeting! 

And so he ran. Ran until his calves strained and ached from the exertion, until his lungs ached for breath, until he was as deep into the castle court gardens as he could be. Only when he made it to the plum tree alcove did he then stagger to a halt, leaning against a plum tree, stitch in his side, not caring for the plums squished under his shoes, staining the soles a deep purple. He leaned his forehead against the skinny, smooth trunk of the plum tree, dragging gulps of air into his lungs, squeezing his eyes shut against his panic and anxiety. 

 _I’m outside,_ he told himself,  _He can’t see me now. He can’t see me when I’m here. This is safe. The plum trees will hide me._

His hands wrapped around the trunk of the young plum tree, then his small arms wrapped around it, holding on, eking comfort from the arms of mother nature itself. He tried to remember what he’d been advised again and again by his mother when he felt this way, when his worries and upset threatened to overwhelm him to the point of being nigh unbearable. 

_What can I smell?_

Smell—aromas—oh! Plums! What did plums make him think of? He tried to pull forth any imagery, any memory. Just one would do. Anything. Anything to pull out of this fog of upset. And—there was one now, a dessert. A dessert, a baked pie full of the richness of plums. There—focus—focus on that. The memories of the scent, the images, let them surround him, calm him--plum desserts with a great helping of cream served in his favourite bowl. Plum jam—oh, he could taste it now—plum jam on bread, paired with sweet tea brewed up by Mrs Potts herself. Plums brought inside in a basket brimming with the delicate fruit, one or two sneaked into Adam’s hands if he happened to pass by. 

 _What can I feel?_ Adam remembered more of his mother’s guidance whenever he felt this way.

And what he could feel, this he now focussed upon—the over-ripe, mushy fruit under his shoes, the stones pressing into the soles. Under his fingers, the texture of the trunk, the little notches that tripped under his fingertips as he ran his hands over them. The way his hair lifted with the wind as it ruffled his blonde locks, tickled against the back of his neck. The sun touched soothing, strong summer strokes against the bare skin of his face, his neck, his hands. And today the touch of summer sun came with the whiff of ripe summer plums. 

 _Are you calmer now?_ Adam’s mother would have asked had she been here to listen to his descriptions of smell and touch.  _How are you feeling?_

His hands pressed harder against the tree trunk, trying to still his shaking fingers.

_Tell me what you can hear. Listen, what are the birds saying?_

He heard them chirping and fussing in the trees, their piercing notes piping against the ambient breeze rustling through the branches. He imagined them hidden in the foliage, paired birds whispering sweet nothings together as they pecked and pried at the delicate skins of the plums to get at the juicy goodness inside. He imagined their tiny beaks stained plum purple as they nibbled at the juicy flesh of the fruit. 

_What else do you hear?_

Whistling—a man’s merry whistling, punctuated by the sounds of plums being picked off from their twigs.  _Pluck, pluck, whistle, whistle._ The whistling tune soon turned into a song with actual words, melodious and very familiar. He kept his eyes closed, letting himself listen to the singing, get lost in its familiarity. A love song—he recognised the words and their accompanying melody. A love song from a man full of light to his lady whose name recalled the silken softness of new down on a baby bird. 

_Plumette._

There could be no doubt as to the owner of that melody. He held on to that sound, letting it bring back memories of Lumiere’s singing at dinner or, indeed, any other mealtime. And, though Adam never told him, the boy had overheard Lumiere singing soft little songs,  _sotto voce_ , to his beloved Plumette when they thought no one was listening. Perhaps Lumiere’s singing was not the best in the castle, or indeed all France, but it soothed Adam all the same now.

_Look. What do you see?_

The boy cracked open his eyes, staring down at the ground, watching the silhouettes of fluttering leaves waving to and fro as the breeze played like a little child among them. Moving among these fluttering shadows was the shadow of a man, one arm outstretched as he plucked more plums from above his head. The boy’s eyes followed the shadow up to its owner, and there was Lumiere, resplendent as always in an outfit decidedly not suitable for plum picking, singing a merry song as he worked away. 

As though he felt the boy’s eyes on him, Lumiere let his current handful of plums loose into his already overflowing basket, and swung round to look at the prince. His eyes widened in a show of astonishment as he loped over to where Adam was, cupping his hand under the boy’s chin, lifting his face so he looked up at Lumiere. 

“ _Mon dieu!_  I’ve never come across a plum like this before!” 

Despite himself, the boy managed the weakest of smiles at Lumiere’s quip. 

“Ah, no, wait, you’re not a plum, you’re the prince!” Lumiere let go of Adam’s chin, his hand withdrawing to hang by his side again, tilting his head that way and that. “You look like you could use a little distraction, my prince. Everything alright with you?” 

The faint smile that had been there dissipated, the boy nodding as he looked back at the ground. 

“Father yelled at me again. He was—he shouted at me about getting in everyone’s way.” 

Lumiere sighed, his hand landing on the prince’s shoulder, strong, safe. “Is your mother busy?” 

“She has the ambassador today.” 

“I’ve got more than enough plums,” Lumiere jostled the basket in his other hand, plums sliding and diving off the over-filled basket to the dry earth below, to be pecked at by birds later.  “Let’s enjoy them in the sun while we can. Fancy a walk?” 

Adam doesn’t hesitate in holding out one of his own hands to Lumiere, the man taking it in his own always-warm, always-strong one. Lumiere squeezed once, tightly, a silent assurance that the boy will always be safe around him—he can always trust in that. The warmth of Lumiere’s hand is enough to chase almost all of the rest of Adam’s anxiety away. Almost, for a wisp of it still lingers. 

Lumiere’s strides are ordinarily energetic, long, and strong, but it’s like he knows the boy prince’s legs could not keep up with his ordinary pace. He slows down, places one foot at a shorter distance before the other, so the prince can keep up with him as they take a walk down another path to an expanse of green, green grass where they can sit down and look up at a blue, blue sky with pure white clouds. 

Servant and prince sit down together in that hidden patch of grass where they can sit a while and talk of plums, desserts, and the clouds scuttling above their heads. Lumiere set the basket down, and a few of the plums roll out. 

“I wish we could eat them all right now,” Lumiere said as he plucked out several plums in both hands, handing some to the prince, who gladly took them, “Alas! Cuisiner desires us to bring back some!” 

Adam, who has already begun eating his first plum, looks up at Lumiere. “What is he making?” 

“A plum dessert, I take it,” Lumiere guessed, “And I already know that it will be  _exquisite!”_

 _“_ I’d like that,” Adam said, “I always like his plum desserts.” 

“There’s no chef in all of Europe who makes better plum desserts than he does, my prince.”

“How do you know?” 

Lumiere threw away a stone from his last plum, watching it disappear over a hedge. He reached back without looking to grab another plum, juggling it from palm to palm as he answered. 

“I just know these things--but Cuisinier would agree I’m sure. You know for yourself how much passion he has for his art.” 

But Adam’s mind had wandered on to other things beside the castle cook’s passion for his job. Throwing away a plum that was clearly too over-ripe and a little mushy, he lay back in the grass, staring at the sky above him. He watched a small, gauzy cloud, hardly more than a fuzzy white film stretching over blue sky, slowly make its way past. 

“They’re like art aren’t they?” 

Adam looked over at Lumiere, who was halfway through a third plum. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Lumiere pointed up at the gauzy cloud Adam was watching. 

“Look at its border--doesn’t it remind you a little of ocean waves?” 

The boy cast his eyes over the cloud’s borders, looking for the waves of the ocean roiling through the big blue. And, indeed, there it was, the echo of the foamy waves of the sea in the cloud’s borders. The very sight and idea of it held Adam’s attention even as Lumiere continued to talk. 

“It makes sense, you know,” Lumiere continued, throwing away the remains of his plum, lying back on the grass now beside Adam, “The water of the Rhine, after all, reflects the sky’s moods. If the sky is bright blue, as it is now, even the sea is a deep blue. If it’s overcast and moody, the sea is grey and moody too.” 

“It’s getting bigger,” Adam observed of the same cloud, “It’s not as thin anymore.” 

“No, but watch, it might dissipate and become smaller clouds.” 

Adam stared up at the cloud in silence, drawn in by the choreography of its nature. It billowed and became denser, appearing to be heavier and heavier, even though it did not turn grey with rain. A pair of birds, silhouetted and dwarfed against the great white cloud, darted past its face and, in the blink of an eye, were gone on their way. And, high above, sailing on the warm summer air, Adam could too see a seagull against a backdrop of feathery paint strokes of clouds. 

“Many an hour Plumette and I have wiled away just watching the clouds,” Lumiere said, eyes cast upon the sky too, “It’s a dreamer’s paradise.” 

“Father doesn’t want me to be a dreamer.” 

“Your mother is a dreamer isn’t she?” 

“She is?” 

Lumiere turned on his side, leaning on his elbow, head against hand. “Of course. You get it from her. You’re a dreamer, no matter what your father tries to tell you.” 

“You think princes can be dreamers?” 

“Of course! There is enough time behind humankind for there to have been kings and princes and queens and princesses who were dreamers! I don’t see anything wrong with a prince having a creative imagination. Your father might not think so, but I think so, and you know your mother does too.” 

Lumiere wasn’t wrong, that Adam could agree as much. His mother did have a way with her imagination, a certain innate artistry that showed itself in how she carried herself or the way she absorbed herself in her many quiet hobbies she hid from her husband. Her husband sneered at anything that suggested the idea of an imagination or creativity, preferring cold, hard “logic” and “brutal reality”. The prince certainly didn’t want to be like that, being harsh and cold, turning away the unfortunates and sneering at creativity. He couldn’t imagine a dinner without music nor a dessert without lavish designs. 

“Look! The cloud is changing and splitting!” 

Adam looked back at the cloud he’d had his eye on, and, indeed, just as Lumiere said, it was thinning out again--nowhere as gauzy as when he had first set eyes upon it, but changing nonetheless. He watched as the cloud was teased apart by the wind, little cotton balls of white rolling along in the wind’s path and direction. A great portion of it stayed dense and thick, but now he could see lighter, feathery portions, sometimes so light and gauzy that it disappeared into the blue sky before his eyes, taking the last of his upset along with it, tugging it from his own troubled heart, leaving it lighter than before. 

“It’s beautiful,” he found himself saying, a genuine smile lighting up his face despite himself. 

“But of course,” Lumiere responded as though this was the most obvious thing in all the world, “It takes a great imagination to see such beauty when you do something so little as look up at the clouds and let the stories run wild.” 

And, thus, gazing upon the swirls and brush strokes of clouds on the canvas of bright blue, Adam let his own imagination run free, unfettered for the time being by the cares and woes of the castle within where his father dominated his presence when his mother was not around. 

For now he just focussed-- _focus, focus, all you need is to focus_ \--on the sight of the clouds on bright blue, the sound of birds chirping elsewhere in the garden, the sight of a dear friend lying next to him in the grass, and the feeling of such relief mixed with the still shy and unsure need to let his imagination run free with the clouds high above in the heavens. 

_Let the imagination go..._

 


End file.
